


Jazz Hands

by Epiphanyx7



Category: High School Musical
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-11
Updated: 2009-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you can get through my Jazz class without collapsing on the floor, crying, or curling up into the fetal position, I will give you a thousand dollars."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jazz Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between HSM2 and HSM3... You know, beginning-of-the-school-year era. I'm not quite sure but this might actually be the first high school musical fic I ever tried to write. I only fished it like, now, though, so... I dunno. Go me!

"Yeah, I'm actually... um. Busy, on Saturday," Ryan said, when they invited him to Troy's party.

Chad stared at him, incredulous. "So, what, you like, have plans to be somewhere else," He said, half-joking.

Ryan shrugged. "It's not a big deal," He said. "I'm just - Saturdays aren't really good for me."

"Where are you going to be?" He asked, mostly because he was curious now - after all, it was Troy. Having a party. Which happened approximately once over seven hundred and never years, so most people cleared their schedules when they found out that Troy was going to be setting up something big. And - well, it was Ryan, here, who was too rich to need to work, single, and who didn't have friends who weren't going to be at Troy's party.

"I..." Ryan blushed, kind of prettily, although Chad would deny that thought until his dying day. Guys weren't pretty (although, if they could be, Ryan would certainly fit the bill). "Saturday - I usually spend the day at the studio."

"The studio?"

"The dance studio," Ryan repeated. "I've got - lessons."

"Wait, you actually pay people to learn that shit?" Chad blurted out, words escaping his lips before he could think, and then he desperately wanted them back.

Turning away and waving dismissively, Ryan rolled his eyes and looked down at his hands, a sure sign that Chad had fucked up something majorly.

"I mean," Chad said, unsure what he'd done. "I didn't think you needed to learn it - it seems to come so naturally." Ryan seemed slightly mollified, so he continued. "I'm sure it's really - um, interesting, and fun and whatnot. But are you sure you don't want to come to Troy's anyway? People aren't really going to show up until around nine - and we'll all just hang out until the morning and stuff."

"I'm going to be really tired," Ryan said. "It's a long day, and--"

"You're coming," Chad insisted. "Please? It's going to totally suck if you don't come."

Ryan rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue any more. In Chad's mind, that was as good as a victory.

-

After one of the worlds most terrifying conversations (he'd brought Gabriella along as a shield, but even she was no match for Hurricane Sharpay) Chad had discovered that Ryan was, in fact, going to be at "The Studio" on Saturday. Gabriella's calming influence had even managed to pry the address from Sharpay's grasping, greedy little mind, and Chad headed there when he got off of work. He didn't know what to expect, but if Ryan was going to spend his whole day in the place and not even stop by Troy's afterward, it had better be freakin' amazing.

He walked in the front doors and stood awkwardly in the lobby, wondering what was going on. There was music playing, something loud with a heavy beat that nevertheless sounded at least ten years out of date (or so far off the Top 40 Chart that Chad had never heard it). Everyone else was all - smooth and polished, with perfectly manicured nails and hair pulled back, so Chad felt like some kind of awkward too-large kid, with curly hair falling into his eyes and obscuring his vision.

One of the doors down the hallway was open, and Chad could barely make out black-clad figures, spinning and whirling and laughing. It looked like fun - kind of like their rehearsals back at Lava Springs - but also a hell of a lot more complicated. People were leaping and twirling, sometimes in tandem - always managing to be slightly impressive. He stepped closer, recognizing Ryan in the middle of the crowd.

Girls were throwing themselves at him - literally throwing themselves - and Ryan was catching them, simple and easy, and doing stuff like spinning around with them in his arms, or twirling them around. He flipped one girl over his shoulder and caught her backwards, then twirled her around and dipped her low, laughing, her hand coming up to curl around the back of his neck, thumb on the curve of his ear.

To be honest, it was really cool - none of the dancing they'd done back at Lava Springs, or even back at school, had looked anything like this. These girls were all tall and lithe, with hard-muscled legs - and they looked really happy, too, the way Gabriella did when she was singing.

The music wound down, and Ryan jogged over, sweating and smiling. He was wearing something that might, in another life, have been sweatpants; in this life it was black and way too tight, too-low slung, almost indecent. The plain black t-shirt he wore over them was damp with sweat. "Hey," Ryan said, grabbing a water bottle from a shelf right behind Chad and drinking deeply.

"Oh, hey," Chad said, pretending nonchalance. "I thought I'd swing by, see why you spent all saturday in this place."

"Lessons," Ryan said. He wasn't being rude or anything, just a little bit terse, probably because he hadn't caught his breath yet. There were a few other guys in the class, all of whom immediately started shoving water bottles and shoes and stuff into bags and making for an exit.

"That was a lesson?" Chad asked.

"Our teacher - Nadine - lets us freestyle a bit afterward to loosen up. That was, you know. A little fun." Ryan waved a hand dramatically and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, putting down the now-empty water bottle and grabbing another. "Don't worry, I'm taking it easy. I have Jazz next, and then I'm done for the day."

"Right," Chad suddenly felt very uncomfortable. The other guys had left the studio (how had they managed that so quickly?) and Ryan was standing in front of him with his low-slung pants and his weird shoes, and all the girls were chattering quietly as they packed their bags. "Um."

"Lunch?" Ryan suggested. "Let me change my shoes, I'll be back in a jiffy,"

-

If he'd been asked, Chad probably would have bet his entire life that Ryan didn't own a single hoodie. He would have been wrong, of course, because Ryan showed up two minutes later wearing a too-large hooded sweater and a matching chocolate brown fedora. "It's warm outside," Chad said, stupidly.

"Yeah, but I don't want my muscles to cool down just yet," Ryan grinned at him and gestured towards the nearby plaza. "You know what you want to eat? There's a large selection. I'm a fan of the Thai place, but the Vietnamese food is actually pretty good."

Seeing Ryan in a hat was normal, seeing him in a hoodie was not. Just like - earlier, when he'd been dancing, it hadn't been anything at all like what Chad had expected. It was like, the kind of stuff they put in serious dance movies, not the kind of stuff that a bunch of high school kids would do for a production. Where had he learned that? Chad was positive that if he ever tried to flip Taylor over his shoulder she'd knee him in the ribs and run; if he'd tried to catch her afterward he would have broken his wrist and she would have broken his neck for trying. And Ryan - he'd made it all look effortless.

"What's with you?" Ryan asked, eyes narrowing. "You're like, totally spaced. Are you high? You had better not be stoned. If you've got the munchies I'm definitely not paying for your lunch."

"I'm not high!" Chad protested, and then he laughed at the skeptical look on Ryan's face. "I'm just wondering - is all that stuff hard? Like, how long did it take you to learn? The dancing stuff."

"Well," Ryan said, pushing open the door to a restaurant whose name Chad couldn't pronounce. It smelled good, which was the important thing. "It depends on what you mean. Some parts of dancing are easy, you know, just letting things flow and be natural. And some things, like learning to make a proper split leap, or do a back flip, or pirhouette - those you've got to practice."

"Right," Chad said. "But, is it hard?"

"Yes," Ryan said, pushing up the brim of his hat. "It's hard, Chad."

"Harder than baseball?"

"Much, much harder than baseball."

-

They wasted an hour in the restaurant, and another hour on the floor of the studio lobby, sitting cross-legged with a notebook between them playing tic-tac-toe, hangman, and once, a really heated thumb war. It was easy to ignore the looks they were getting, because Ryan would occasionally catch someone staring, and he'd just raise an eyebrow and say "Can I help you?" in this really cold voice (similar to Sharpay's bitch voice, Chad thought).

Nine times out of ten, the other person stammered an apology. The tenth time, they wanted Ryan to spot a class of younger students.

"Oh, hey," Ryan said. "It's almost time for my Jazz class. Are you going to head out?"

"Well, you're done after this, right?" Chad asked. "Because - I can stick around, if you want." His mind supplied the phrase _Walk you home_ , but Chad quickly stomped on the thought and didn't say it out loud. Instead, he just shrugged, hands deep in his pockets and hair obscuring his face.

"You're just dying to check out all the girls in my class, aren't you?" Ryan said, sounding amused.

"It can't be harder than baseball," Chad said, changing the subject abruptly. "I mean, that's a real sport - and - shit, I didn't mean that this isn't a real sport. Just that being an athlete is a lot more demanding than being a dancer." And wow, that had totally not come out right at all, Chad thought, hating himself.

Ryan didn't look upset, though. He tilted his head to the side, considering, eyes slightly narrowed, the brim of his fedora casting a dramatic shadow over his eyes.

"You jocks," he said, slowly, "You don't know anything at all, do you?"

"Hey," Chad protested weakly.

"I'll tell you what," Ryan leaned in, invading Chad's personal space with his warmth and his hand gestures and poking him in the chest. "If you can get through my Jazz class without collapsing on the floor, crying, or curling up into the fetal position, I will give you a thousand dollars."

Mouth opening and closing soundlessly, Chad stared at his friend, then frowned and looked at the floor. "Ryan," he said. "I think I just had a really weird hallucination?"

"You're still saving up for that car, aren't you?" Ryan asked, eyebrow arched. "I'm not joking, Danforth. _One. Thousand. Dollars._ "

"You're on," Chad said, mostly because this was totally a challenge and he was so not about to back down, and partly because Ryan could _afford_ a thousand dollar donation to the dream-Camaro-that-might-be-a-Tranformer-fund. One measly little dance class couldn't be harder than baseball.

-

"All right ladies, warm-up!" The woman who charged in the room was definitely not what Chad had been expecting. She was middle-aged, kind of butch, and wore giant dangling earrings that jangled loudly every time she took a step. Dressed in something that was probably once a t-shirt and leggings, she looked at Chad as if he were something smeared on the soles of her brand-new Birkenstocks.

Chad scrambled to his feet; Ryan, who had been sprawled on the studio floor with a few of the other dancers, didn't move.

"Ladies _and gentlemen_ ," the teacher repeated, exasperated. "Once again, Mr. Evans, I apologise - just get up and dance."

Ryan stood up gracefully, something that Chad could not have done in a million years. He smiled sunnily at the teacher, pulling the hoodie over his head and putting it on a bench at the back of the room.

"Who are you?" The teacher demanded, ignoring the class in favour of gawking in Chad's direction.

"He's a potential student," Ryan said, smirking slightly at Chad. "I hope you don't mind, Carla, but I told him he could participate in this class today - if he likes it, he'll stay on for the whole year." That was definitely not the case, but he turned towards Chad, hiding his conspiratorial wink from Carla and his classmates. "Right, Chad?"

"Uh, yeah?" Chad said, knowing that he was the world's worst liar.

That was good enough for Carla, though, and she snapped her fingers frantically and waved her arms. "All right, children," She said. "Let's get those muscles loosened up!"

The pace was almost brutally fast. Chad's version of a warm-up had always included a light jog, some stretches, and then a serious practice or running sprints for track. This was completely different, like they were all frantic to get every single muscle in their body overheated - and it was just moving, too, moving his arms first one way then the other, rolling his neck to get the muscles there. Big circles, little circles, half the time he didn't even know what the heck Carla was talking about, so he just looked at Ryan from the corner of his eye and mimicked him.

He was sweating in five minutes, probably because it was really warm in the studio and they were all moving really fast - but he was keeping up, which was what was important. He wasn't anywhere near falling over, Ryan clearly didn't know what he was talking about if he called this a work out.

Their ten-minute warm-up finished, Carla clapped her hands loudly. "Stretches!" She said, and then dropped to the floor. Ryan and girls in the class all followed, so Chad did too and then tried to do the stretches.

That was just ridiculous, he thought, seeing one girl beside him just flatten herself in two, both legs in front of her and her whole chest and torso pressed up against them. He turned to the other side to tell Ryan how incredible weird that was, and then he realized that Ryan was doing the same thing, arms extended, toes pointed towards the ceiling. "Dude," Chad said, admiring, and Ryan grinned brightly at him before moving to the rest of the stretches.

Carla insisted that everyone hold each stretch for exactly thirty seconds, and she had a stopwatch with her. That was tough, too, because Chad usually didn't bother stretching much (he did his legs and stuff before a game or a meet) and he'd never held a stretch for that long, either. Ryan didn't seem to have any trouble, and he was just as flexible as all of the girls in the class. Some of them were just as bad as Chad, though, so he didn't feel too badly.

"All right, Ladies - _Ladies and Gentlemen _, Yes, Mr. Evans, _I know_ \- let's start on some choreography," Carla said right afterward.__

It took about six seconds to realize that Chad was hugely, entirely, and in all other words completely out of his depth. This choreography didn't involve clapping or cross-stepping, it didn't bear even the slightest resemblance to a basketball play. "One, two, three, four," Carla counted, twirling and arching her back in a way that was probably not healthy. "Five, six, seven, eight --" and then there was something with the feet that he didn't get, and her arms were going in two different directions at once, and at some point she'd spun around again and did something and ended with her leg held out behind her. "One, two..."

He stumbled along beside Ryan, knowing that he looked like an absolute idiot - this was hard, and she wasn't even slowing down. At least at Lava Springs Ryan had been all, easy with the choreography, and had let people just freestyle and if someone hadn't gotten it down, he'd slow it all down until they got it. Carla was just - off and running, doing a bunch of stuff and making Chad's head spin.

"So, that's eight counts of eight. Ready to try it?" Carla asked, looking back at her students. She'd turned to face the mirror, and was studying their faces.

"Ready," they chorused, with the exception of Chad, who had immediately answered "No,"

Ryan laughed. "Don't worry, we'll go through it a bunch of times," he whispered to Chad quickly, and then Carla started counting again.

-

"Like this," Ryan said, pushing Chad's feet into position. "If you don't have the proper stance, you're just going to fall over. Try it again."

The organized class atmosphere had fallen into disarray after the third run-through of Carla's 'eight counts of eight'; whatever that meant. None of the actual students had gotten it right on the first try, but on the third run-through, Ryan had been flawless, aside from a pretty shaky spin. Chad hadn't even gotten the first part right, because no matter how often he tried, Carla kept coming to him and telling him to "arch his back" and "feel his center" and "just fall through and work with gravity, not against it," none of which made sense to him in the slightest.

"What is that crazy woman saying?" He'd hissed to Ryan, and then the entire class had broken into groups of two and three to practice, while Carla wandered around and offered advice. Chad felt disgustingly sweaty - his shirt was soaked through - and most of his muscles were rubbery and his legs hurt.

"Just throw your shoulders back," Ryan suggested, scrutinizing Chad. "You'll be fine. It's not that difficult - forget about the arms, just work on the footwork."

And at least that made sense, it was phrased in instructions that Chad could actually follow. Ryan was really good at that, Chad noted, being able to translate pure nonsense into something he could understand. It was kind of cool. He stood up and pushed his shoulders back a little bit - "More," Ryan said. "And keep them low, too, you don't want to look unnatural," - then managed stumble through the first count of four.

"Hey, I did it!" He said proudly.

There was a muffled snort, and Chad turned to see Ryan laughing softly. "Yeah, good job tough guy," he said, walking to the side to grab a bottle of water. "Now, you just need to get the other sixty beats, and you'll have survived half the class!" He downed half of the water and then threw it to Chad.

Snatching the bottle out of the air, Chad twisted off the cap and drank the whole thing, lukewarm and tasting of plastic. It was the best water he'd ever tasted. "Oh, man," He said, wiping his hand across his forehead. "This is like, totally ridiculous."

Ryan shrugged. "It's normal. Keep hydrated, though, otherwise you're going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow."

Chad shrugged and tossed the empty bottle back to Ryan, who caught it expertly. "Come on, Evans, teach me these other sixty steps."

-

He'd only managed to mostly get the choreography, his grasp of some of the finer footwork was shaky at best, and he still wasn't doing any of the spins and stuff right - but at least he could kind of perform it with the others when Carla yelled for it. And Ryan had been right, putting the appropriate arm movements in when he already knew where his feet were going was a lot easier than trying to figure out the whole thing.

He'd been in the class for an hour, Chad realized. He was drenched in sweat and feeling grimier than he did after a baseball game, and there was still half an hour left before the class let out. Every single bone in his body felt as if it were made of marshmallow; his muscles weren't screaming in pain, they were just so weak it was as if they weren't there. He wanted to tell Ryan that he was sorry and clearly that this dancing thing was a real sport, and kind of worse than baseball and basketball and track all mixed together, but Chad's voice was gone and his muscles wouldn't have the energy to move his jaw, regardless.

"Come on," Ryan said, standing up. "Let's learn some new moves, Danforth."

"I hate you," Chad tried to say. It came out slurred and kind of drunk-sounding. Ryan looked as if he understood, regardless.

-

He collapsed five minutes before the end of the class, curling up with his arms wrapped around his knees in the back corner and resting his forehead against the cool wall. The class continued without him, then Carla wrapped it up quickly and made her escape, all in about forty seconds.

Ryan made his way to the ancient CD player at the front of the class and slipped in a CD. "Come on guys," He said. "We deserve a proper cool-down."

There were a few half-hearted groans, but none of the other students left even though the teacher had already gone. "Hey, Danforth," one of them said, a tall girl with dark brown hair. "Come join us."

"I can't move," He moaned.

"Come on," Ryan said, suddenly beside him, hands wrapping underneath Chad's armpits and hauling him to his feet. "If you don't cool down, your muscles are going to hate you tomorrow." He was frowning, looking at Chad with this oddly concerned expression. "You didn't overdo it, did you?" he asked, in a really quiet voice.

"I'm not doing your stupid cool-down," Chad insisted.

"Right," Ryan agreed, pulling Chad forward into the middle of the room. "Of course you're not." And then he spun away, striking a dramatic pose before spinning himself back into Chad, who stood there, amused.

The song playing was Geek in the Pink, which Chad had heard countless times, enough to know that the song always made him want to dance along. But Ryan was being more and more flamboyant, striking poses and twirling like a ballerina and then stopping, snatching up his fedora, and doing a radical moonwalk across the studio. Everyone else was doing the same thing - just fooling around, twirling each other around. Two girls in the back were doing some weird yogalate thing.

"Come on, Danforth," Ryan said, and then he quickly stepped into the choreography from last year's Musical, humming under his breath.

And hey, Chad couldn't really resist that, could he? He actually knew those steps, they were familiar like the back of his hand or the basketball court, so he took his spot beside Ryan and launched himself into the pseudo-performance. It was - actually, kind of fun, even though the music was all wrong, he was exhausted and he felt all wobbly.

Ryan grinned at him afterward, laughing. "I'm impressed, Danforth," he said. "Most guys can't make it through the warm-up."

He could feel the heat rising to his face. "Yeah," Chad said. "Well, I'm a real athlete, you know - even if there are a lot more breaks in Basketball."

"Dancers are athletes too," Ryan said, pointedly.

"Uh, yeah," Chad agreed. "You're probably right."

-

He'd stopped at home to shower and change his clothes, and then Chad had fallen over onto his living room couch and contemplated calling Troy and telling him that he wasn't going to make it. But dude, he totally didn't want to miss the party - he just wanted to have the energy to actually walk over to Troy's place.

"I have clearly made some bad decisions," He said to the ceiling, which was polite enough not to point out that if he'd lasted only five minutes longer he would be a thousand dollars closer to his new car.

He lay there, not moving, and finally forced himself up and off of the couch. Troy was having a party and it was his duty, as best friend and (wholly unnecessary) wingman, to show up and entertain and be awesomely hilarious.

Plus, after all the trouble he'd gone through to make sure Ryan agreed to come - it would be totally rude if he bailed. Ryan had done the same exhausting dance class as Chad...

Only, that wasn't really the case, was it, Chad realized. He was exhausted, yeah, but he'd gone through that dance class the one time. Ryan had been doing a lot more dancing than he had, because he was demonstrating the choreography for some of the other dancers. And he'd had another class, earlier that day - Chad had shown up at the end, when they were all having fun and showing off.

Horrified, Chad suddenly got it. He'd basically harassed Ryan into coming to Troy's - and Ryan had known that he'd be exhausted and ridiculously tired. He'd had not one, but two different dance classes - so he was probably twice as tired as Chad was. And in that other class - he'd been picking girls up and stuff, lifting them and spinning around.

Great, I'm a horribly selfish person, Chad thought. Ryan's gonna hate me, Troy's going to be pissed when I'm late and then bitchy, and Sharpay is probably going to stab me with a shoe if she figures out that I'm the reason her precious baby brother doesn't get enough sleep. I didn't even bother to ask him if he had plans tomorrow; he might be going to church or some other dumb thing that requires him to wake up ridiculously early.

"Fuck," He swore. The ceiling stayed silent.

-

He felt a lot more like himself once he'd settled into the couch at Troy's place, with his audience of joke-loving jocks and the cheerleaders who followed them. Troy was off somewhere, probably not even making out with his girlfriend but doing something sappy like staring lovingly into her eyes and comparing her voice to sunlight - probably screwing up his metaphors, too. Nevertheless, the house was packed with students, all eager to have a good time, all buying into Chad's last-second I'm-not-too-tired-to-party act.

His fingers tapped impatiently on the table beside him, even as he joked around with Jason and Zeke about the previous week's basketball practice. He was jittery, his limbs feeling like cooked spaghetti (without sauce) and his mind racing at 85 mph. Seriously, if Ryan wasn't going to show up and be all exhausted and whatever, then Chad totally wasn't going to apologise for trying to pressure him into showing up in the first place. And he'd - well, he hadn't promised or anything, but he'd totally implied that he was going to be here.

Chad really wanted to see him, just to say sorry, and maybe tell him how cool that dance class had been. It really had been fun, too, he wasn't just going to say it - it wasn't anything like what he'd expected (little girls in tutus) and it had actually been really difficult. He was sore all over, too.

Sinking back into the couch, Chad began planning what he was going to say to Ryan - when he saw him in school, since it didn't look like he was going to come down to Troy's house. He should tell him - well, that it wasn't a big deal if he was too tired to hang out, and that he'd make sure Troy had parties on like, a different night like Friday or something so Ryan could come over and it wouldn't be all weird, or something. Actually, he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say to Ryan.

"Hey, Chad." Ryan said, dropping onto the couch beside him. He'd changed into a dark-purple-and-black outfit, with a slick-looking hat.

"Oh," Chad said, articulate as always. "I didn't think you were coming, man, I thought you'd be -- like, tired."

"I'm fine," Ryan shrugged, a small smile playing at his lips. "I had a latte with Sharpay before I came over, so I should be fine."

Ew, Coffee, Chad thought. "Hey, did you hear about the guy who puked in the middle of Zeke's home ec class?" He asked out loud, feeling dazed and tired but not at all bad.

"Gross," Ryan laughed, shifting so he was resting his back against the arm of the couch, his head tilted a little bit to the side as he looked back at Chad. "Tell me about it," he said.

-

He was warm and comfortable when he woke up, which was awesome, because he was still really tired. Chad blinked upward blearily, the world slowly coming into focus as he recognized Troy standing over him, looking kind of amused. "Dude," Troy said. "Forget to take your nap this afternoon?"

Chad flailed his way out of his resting place on the couch. His head was still fuzzy. "Shut up," he said, wiping at his face to make sure he hadn't been drooling or anything.

Troy shook his head. "Don't worry about it, man," he said. "Look, why don't you go home?"

"But I want to have fun!" Chad protested, even though his muscles were screaming at him to follow Troy's advice. Go home, his tired legs told him, and Chad silently told them to shut up, too.

"Dude," Troy laughed, slinging an arm around Chad's shoulders and dropping onto the couch beside him with a thump. "You're so tired you look like a zombie--"

"Don't!" Chad hissed, shoving Troy's arm off of him.

"Right, I forgot about your weird phobia of --"

"Don't say it," Chad interrupted him.

Nodding, Troy waved a hand. "Of that thing I'm not about to say," He amended. "Look, dude, just go home. My parents are out of town again next month, I'll throw another party -- what were you even doing, to end up so freaking tired? Did you pull an all nighter or something?"

"Nah," Chad said. "I'm just -- you know how it is," because saying I tried to live though a Jazz class in order to win a thousand dollars would probably sound a little weird.

"Take Evans with you," Troy said. "That's the third peice of furniture he's fallen asleep on," and when Chad turned his head, he saw Ryan curled up in an armchair, fast asleep and holding his hat against his chest with one hand.

-

They walked in mostly-silence, because Chad was still trying to blink sleep away from his eyes and Ryan was still half-asleep, needing Chad's hand on his elbow to stop him from walking into signs or from pausing to rest against convenient walls.

"You're a complete mess," Chad mumbled, fondly, when Ryan jerked to a stop at an intersection and looked confused.

"Hey," Ryan said, finally. "You're -- walking me home," And he blinked, a small frown appearing on his face as he thought that one through.

Chad shrugged. "Someone had to," he said, and Ryan nodded as if that made sense.

Because Ryan was clearly mostly-asleep and also because Chad kind of liked seeing him like this, tired and vulnerable and almost achingly sweet, he walked Ryan all the way up to his front door, stood with his hands in his pockets while Ryan fumbled slowly for his keys. He managed to check about sixteen thousand different pockets (where all the pockets managed to fit into his pants, Chad wasn't exactly sure) before he finally produced the keychain.

"Which one's your house key?" Chad asked.

Ryan shrugged and tried to fit the first key into the lock. It didn't turn. He proceeded to try the second key, while Chad laughed beside him. "Dude," He said. "You're the drunkest I've ever seen a sober person, you know that?" and he grabbed the keys from Ryan because he wasn't asleep anymore.

It was the fifth key on the ring, apparently, so Chad turned the lock and pulled the keychain out of the door, placing them carefully in Ryan's palm and pressing his fingers down over them. "Take care of yourself," Chad said. "You think you can take it from here, or do I need to walk you to bed?"

"I'm okay," Ryan said, smiling a little sheepishly. He was still blinking far too often. "Don't -- don't worry about me." He leaned a little bit forward, standing all the way in Chad's personal space as he added, "Thank you -- I mean, thanks for walking me."

"Uh," Chad said, and kissed him.

Ryan didn't react for a long, painful moment, and then he made a sweet, soft noise against Chad's lips and opened his mouth. He leaned into the kiss, licking at Chad's lips and really going for it. Chad grabbed his waist, pulling him in closer, trying to win back control of the kiss. Ryan wasn't letting him, though, he got one hand into Chad's hair and devoured him, sucking on his tongue, letting the kiss evolve into something wetter and sloppier until Chad was gasping, shoving him hard up against the door frame, trying to slide his hands up under Ryan's satiny-smooth shirt.

Ryan let him, let Chad kiss him and bite at his lip and trail his mouth down the column of his throat, a little rough from where Ryan hadn't shaved earlier.

"Oh my _god_ ," Sharpay's shrill, horrified voice said, and Chad finally pulled away from Ryan.

Sharpay was standing in the foyer, wearing a dark purple housecoat. She was in her bare feet and holding what looked like a daquiri. "Oh my god," She repeated. "Ryan -- what are you doing."

Ryan, who had not let go of his grip on Chad's hair, frowned at his sister. His lips looked dark and slightly swollen, wet with saliva, and his cheeks were flushed. "Do you mind, Sharpay?" He snapped.

"Uh," Chad said.

"Please," Sharpay snapped, one hand placing itself on her hip. She looked as if she was going to pout. "I cannot _believe_ you," She told Ryan. "After all our discussions about having class, and -- and taste, you end up sticking your tongue down this Neanderthal's throat in front of our house? Like some crass --- _ugh_ , I don't even know what to call you," and since she was still standing there, looking disapproving, Chad decided it was time for him to go.

"Um," He said, to that effect, and Ryan apparently understood what he meant, because he loosened his grip on Chad's hair and stood up to fix his clothes.

"What, like it's any better than you and -- what was his name, Sharpay?" Ryan said, tugging his shirt straight.

"I should go," Chad said, not really wanting to interrupt but wanting to stick around even less.

"Yeah, I'll see you in school," Ryan said, and he leaned forward and planted one on Chad's still-open mouth, wet and dirty, the kind of kiss that Chad had never, in a million years, imagined he could have in front of the Evan's home with Sharpay glaring daggers at his head. But it was Ryan, and he tasted like mint and caramel, and his tongue did fantastic things, so Chad leaned into the kiss and tried his best not to moan.

"Oh my god," Sharpay said, again.

-


End file.
